


That Silver Magic

by ElderWhizzerBrown



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Canon Era, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, this has been in my head too long jUST TAKE IT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2019-10-02 14:33:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17265920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElderWhizzerBrown/pseuds/ElderWhizzerBrown
Summary: “Don’t break it!” Melchior pulled the spellbook away from Hanschen’s hands. “It’s fragile.”“Why are you reading spells, Gabor?”Melchior flipped a page nimbly. “Why do you think? I’m planning on performing one.”





	1. Knacks

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been thinking of this for forever so I just had to post a teaser chapter so I can go back to working on other stuff. Don’t expect the second one for a while. Sorry! I just know if I start working on this I’ll get even more behind on Angel’s Wings soooo...  
>  **Edit: Ignore everything before this, the next chapter’s out now!**  
>  (I realize the context of the title makes it sound like smut, which it’s not, I just got too attached to it)

They came slowly, one by one. 

Ilse found her knack first. She didn’t talk about it and the other children were left even more desperate to know about magic.

They all found their own soon enough - well, most of them did. One had a silver tongue, another saw into other’s minds, a third couldn’t be lied to, and still another was completely uneffected by others using knacks. One took other people’s emotions on as their own. One made all around them love them. One never told what they could do.

One of them couldn’t figure out his knack. He couldn’t exactly hide it, in a town where everyone asked about it directly after your name. The shame almost overwhelmed him.

One of them had his mind opened with his new ability. He rejected all he’d ever known, because one lie could mean two, could mean all of it was fake. 

One of them found herself terrified of herself. Her father felt the same, shunned her when he wasn’t scarring her.

One of them tried to reject her knack, her mother’s voice telling her how evil the whole thing was, what a sin. She met a curly-haired boy who told her nothing they said was true.

One of them wondered if knacks truly are evil, especially after he met a certain short blonde who he couldn’t help but believe in.

One of them worried how he could possibly go about a romance where he couldn’t use his knack to get what he wants.

None of them had been able to wait for a knack, but did it make any of their lives better? Only time would tell.


	2. Spellbooks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look at that, I’m finally coming back to this thing! 
> 
> Quick clarification: if the scene is narrated by a Deaf character, sign will be normal text and spoken word italics, and if it’s narrated by a hearing character, it’s the reverse.

There once was a girl who was fed up with the world.

The attic window opened softly to let in sunlight, which flew onto the mirror to whisper to the dust. Wendla made a mental note to wipe it off later and thanked her lucky stars that she’d never been prone to allergies. Behind the dusty surface of the mirror, her reflection stared back at her; her old favorite dress which was suddenly too small in all the places that had grown recently, her wavy blond hair floating above her shoulders, and her thoughtful brown eyes. In her hands she held an old book she’d found among the many boxes in the attic.

She’d known what it was the second she laid eyes on it. A spellbook. It must have been her grandfather’s. He’d always done magic to make Wendla laugh. He’d been quite talented.

Her mother appeared in the mirror, mouth opening as if saying something. Wendla turned around, dropping the book.

“Wendla!” Mama signed. “What are you doing up here? Wearing that old dress?”

“Mama, it makes me look like a faerie queen!” She smiled and grabbed the hem, spinning it.

Mama pursed her lips, trying to smile. “You’re fourteen, practically grown, child. You can’t go...prancing about in _that._ ” She paused and Wendla met her eyes, trying again to get something, see what was going on inside her mother’s mind. But nothing. “I was going to tell you that your sister has been visited by the stork overnight and blessed with a baby girl.”

Wendla’s face lit up and she threw her arms around her mother. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” she signed when she pulled back. “Can we see her?”

“Well, put on a proper dress and a hat and we can.” Mama glanced around and smiled smally. “It’s been so long since I’ve been up here.” She noticed the book. “What’s this?” She picked it up.

“Nothing, Mama-“ but she was already reading it. Wendla tensed and held a breath.

“Wendla! Spellbooks? What would the pastor say?” Mama threw the book to the ground, putting her foot over it.

“I was just curious,” Wendla protested. “Why mustn’t I know about magic? Everyone uses it, after all. I hear the school still has a class on knacks.”

“Knacks are the devil’s work. Natural doesn’t mean _good._ ” She stood up, picking up the book. “Get on a proper dress and meet me downstairs.” With twisting skirts, her mother disappeared through the doorway, leaving Wendla with even more questions than before.

* * *

There once was a boy who didn’t know what to believe anymore.

_“For generations, our children have been raised in sin.”_ The pastor yelled from the pulpit, so loud that Ernst could almost hear it. Luckily he didn’t need to hear. One of the altar boys was translating for him and the other Deaf churchgoers.

It seemed that the air around the pastor’s head was flecked with silver. _“No more! I implore you, forsake these gifts from the devil, these knacks,”_ Ernst frowned. It would be a much more convincing argument, he decided, if he couldn’t tell that the pastor was using his own knack to turn the congregation. But, he reminded himself, nothing the church said could be wrong. He could practically hear his mother’s voice in his head, saying he shouldn’t judge a holy man. Maybe sin for the sake of good was alright?

Besides, most of the crowd wouldn’t about to tell, since most of them didn’t have Ernst’s knack to see when magic was being used. The silver floating by the pastor’s head dissolved and he realized he was no longer knacking. Perhaps it was instinctual, then. Ernst couldn’t help seeing colors, after all. It must be like that.

Once the service was done, Ernst headed straight for the door. Midterms were coming up, and he planned on going home early to study.

He turned the brass handle of the door, only to feel a hand on his shoulder. Ernst jumped, turning around to see another one of the altar boys, his blond hair perfectly styled, the smile on his face friendly. _“Where might you be running off to?”_ he said out loud.

“Oh, Hanschen.” Ernst relaxed when he remembered the boy’s name, signing instead of speaking. If he remembered correctly, Hanschen’s sister was Deaf, no? Surely he knew sign. “I’m off to study. I really must get going.”

But Hanschen moved to block the door. It was amazing, really, how natural he made it seem, yet how rude it was. Sure enough, he signed right back, “I was just leaving too. Could I walk you?”

_I’m not a dog._ Ernst thought, but he agreed regardless. Hanschen grinned and lead him outside.

“What did you think of the sermon?” Hanschen questioned once they were on their way. “I thought it was rather insane. How could knacks be evil? All of us have them. It’s not our fault.”

Ernst shifted uncomfortably. “You mustn’t doubt the church.”

“See, that’s the problem I have. No one ever responses to doubts with anything other than ‘don’t doubt.’ It’s not always that simple.”

“You’re starting to sound like Melchior Gabor.”

Hanschen gave a ridiculously fake shudder of disgust. “Oh, please, anything but that.” Against his will, Ernst let out a giggle. “But maybe he does say the occasional reasonable thing.”

“How did you ever get to be an altar boy with these ideas?” Ernst wondered aloud.

Hanschen shrugged. “My father wanted me to be one. He wants me to be a pastor someday.”

“I’m going to be a pastor too!” Ernst smiled.

“Just because he wants me to doesn’t mean I will.”

Ernst wasn’t sure how to respond to that and so he didn’t. Hanschen sensed his discomfort and graciously changed the topic. “So, what have you been up to lately?” He nudged Ernst’s shoulder. “Any love life? A pretty girl you’ve got your eye on?”

He shook his head. “None of them interest me, really. I’m always too busy with schoolwork to notice them.”

Hanschen’s smile got bigger. “That’s interesting.”

“Why is it interesting?”

“No reason.” Hanschen stopped walking. “Here’s your stop.”

Ernst looked up to see they were twenty feet from his front door. “Oh. Well, goodbye.”

Hanschen waved and started to walk away. “I look forward to walking you again, Ernst.” And he was gone.

* * *

 

There once was a boy who hated himself.

It wasn’t that Moritz meant to fall asleep in class, truly, he hadn’t. None of it held his interest, was all. He hardly understood what was happening, and even when he did, it was hard to follow. He hadn’t gotten any sleep last night, secondly. Midterms were right around the corner and he could hardly think of much else. And those horrible dreams had only gotten worse with the essay Melchi wrote him.

Melchior jostled his shoulder and Moritz realized that he must have dozed off and it was his turn to read. _Oh god._ Standing up, he tried first to sign before feeling a whack of the professor's cane through the floor. Oh right. He’d have to speak. He tried to moisten his suddenly dry mouth and continued from where Melchior had pointed.

“ _Litora . . . multum enim._ ” Assuming he’d gotten something wrong by the annoyance in the air so thick he could feel it, Moritz glanced up to see the teacher looking at him condescendingly. He tried again.  “ _Multum olim-_ ” Herr Sonnenstich pounded his cane on the ground again, cutting him off.

He said something that Moritz didn’t catch all of. _“Do you...any idea…Herr Stiefel?”_ He took a deep breath, watching Moritz with narrowed eyes, speaking as if Moritz wasn’t even there. _“...shouldn’t ...idiots ... knacks ... school.”_

Melchior stood up in front of him, even angrier then the Herr Sonnenstich. Moritz was already too embarrassed to notice exactly what excuse his friend made up, even though he signed along with his words for several parts. He just stared at the ground and sunk to his chair. It was true, all of it. Moritz was a hopeless dimwit who didn’t even have a knack. Even little Hansi Rillow had one! But not Moritz. Moritz the dunce.

_Wham!_ He looked up. Melchior had been struck with the cane. Moritz winced as if he was the one who’d been struck. Why did Melchi always have to defend him at his own expense? His best friend and he was the one who’d caused him to be in trouble.

Melchior sat down.

Moritz patted his shoulder until he turned around. He could still tell how angry Melchior was, as if it had only built in the time after being hit. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to-”

Melchior laughed humorlessly. “Yes I did. It’s really nothing.”

“It’s my fault. He’s right.” See Melchior’s questioning look, he quickly added, “I’m stupid.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“Why on earth would you think that?” Melchi leaned in and made his signs smaller. “Is it because of what he said? About your knack?” He took Moritz’s lack of response for an answer, smiling reassuringly. “I’m sure you have one, ‘Ritz. You’re just a...late bloomer.” Hope blossomed in Moritz’s chest, even though he’d thought of the possibility before.

“You think?” Suddenly Moritz was yanked out of his chair and Herr Sonnenstich was screaming something in his ear. He just closed his eyes and tried to focus on something besides the spit and air hitting his cheek from the professor’s mouth.

Melchior was back to scowling by the time class finally ended and they could sign again. “Don’t listen to Herr Sonnenstich. Even he doesn’t believe picking on you is going to help you learn better.”  Moritz nodded gratefully. Sometimes he was insanely jealous of Melchi’s knack. He could tell when anyone was lying, or as he put it, ‘spot dishonesty from a mile away.’ Moritz wished he could do that. It’d be pretty useful.

He remembered the first time Melchi’s knack appeared, how for days he’d asked people to try to run lies past him and caught them every time. He’d confided in Moritz that his knack was part of the reason he’d stopped believing in the church. _“They flat out lie to us,”_ he’d said. _“Why should we trust any of it?”_

“But what if I _don’t_ ever get a knack?”

Melchior looked around, but most of the other boys had gone on by then. “We could try a spell.” Moritz was still unsure and Melchior rushed to convince him. “There _has_ to be a spell for this. I'll find one.”

Moritz suddenly felt a rush of confidence. “Okay. Okay, sure. Thank you.”

  
Melchior smiled and swung an arm around his friend’s shoulders. _“You’re welcome,”_ he mouthed.


	3. Illusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m posting this from backstage at rehearsal for a show I’m in. That’s not important, I just felt like saying it.
> 
> All Latin translations are from google translate, because while I am a nerd, I’m not a big enough nerd to know any Latin.

There once was a boy who was stuck.

The arrangement had been going on for some time now, almost a year. It was only natural that them two should study together, considered they were on top of the class. (Although Hanschen was the _very_ top, a fact he never hesitated to point out.) Melchior was intolerable, but he was a good student and he made good conversation.

It was oddly comforting to Hanschen to be around someone who he didn’t have to try to impress, since Melchior hated him already. He always needed so terribly for everyone to like him that it was nice to have someone who left all his cards on the table.

They’d been at it for an hour today, and Melchior had yet to even pull his textbooks out. Instead, he was reading some other thick book, the cover falling off.

“Hans, what would that say?” He pointed to something in the book.

Hanschen sighed and put down his trigonometry book, looking over the other boy’s shoulder. “Sciendum est. ‘It can be understood.’ What is it you’re reading? That’s not an assignment.”

Melchior scoffed. “I’m not allowed to read Latin for fun?”

“Of course you are. It’s just that _that,”_ Hanschen lifted the front cover and read the title. _Duritiam Incantatorum Tuorum Vehementem._ “Is not something you read for fun. That’s a spellbook.”

“Don’t break it!” Melchior pulled it away from Hanschen’s hands. “It’s fragile.”

“Why are you reading spells, Gabor?”

Melchior flipped a page nimbly. “Why do you think? I’m planning on performing one.”

“Perhaps you should learn to read Latin first.” Melchior didn’t bother to respond. Probably couldn’t think of a decent retort. “What are you doing a spell for?”

“Why should I tell you?”

Hanschen went back to trigonometry. Let Melchior do what he liked. It didn’t hurt Hans.

“I’m helping Moritz. With his knack,” Melchior answered anyway.

“Good for you.”

“It’s queer, isn’t it? That he hasn’t one yet?”

“I suppose it is, but he’s not the first to ever be without, I’m sure.”

Melchior nodded, not looking up.

Hans asked, “Are you ever planning on helping with the actual assignment?”

“One moment.”

Hanschen stifled a sigh and cleared his throat. “Put that book down, Gabor.” His voice was laced with magic, not enough to tire his knack out or force Melchior to do anything, but enough that there would some pull to do as he asked.

Melchior looked up and set it down. “I really hate you and that knack of yours.”

Hanschen felt a prick of insecurity, but he shoved it aside. As if he’d ever given Melchior a reason to actually like him. As if there _was_ a reason to actually like him. “Come on.” He dropped his knack, but Melchior moved to help him anyways.

* * *

 Ernst wasn’t exactly Hanschen’s type and he’d be the first to admit it. Ever since he realized he fancied other boys, and even before that, he’d always stared at the tall, muscular, handsome ones, like Bobby Mahler, and Melchior Gabor to some extent.

Ernst fit into the category of tall. Besides that, however, he was gangly and skinny, shy and awkward. Hanschen shouldn’t be so enamored with the boy.

And yet, he was.

Something about him was quite endearing. Perhaps it was the way he smiled, setting off the most peculiar sensation in Hanschen’s stomach. He seemed fairly intelligent, although it was hard to tell since he couldn’t sign in class. Whatever the endearing quality was, it made Hanschen completely freeze whenever he tried to strike up a conversation and inevitably say something idiotic.

Usually he compensated. Having a knack like his wasn’t worth shit if he couldn’t use it to not seem so entirely inept at conversation. How else was anyone supposed to like him at all?

After class, he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around. It was Ernst himself. He wondered briefly if, perhaps, that was Ernst’s knack, to make one feel unsure of himself. He certainly cast such a spell over Hans. _“What is it?”_ he asked.

 _“I was wondering,”_ Ernst hesitated. _“You always do so well in class, and I can’t ask Melchior, he never talks to anyone but Moritz-”_

 _“Are you asking me to study with you?”_  Surely this couldn’t be happening?

Ernst nodded. _“If you’d like to. I just can’t fail the final or I’m certain I won’t advance.”_ He smiled and Hanschen’s stomach tumbled through space. _“We can huddle over the Homer.”_

Perhaps it was the excitement of all this. Perhaps it was just the effect Ernst always had over him. Either way, Hanschen signed the stupidest thing yet. _“Do a little Achilles and Patroclus?”_

His blood ran cold and he braced himself for a rejection, but Ernst just looked confused. _“What?”_

 _“Nevermind.”_ He used a bit more of his knack than he intended there, but it was worth it to be sure Ernst didn’t think him an idiot.

Ernst gave him an odd look, smiled and gathered up his things again. _“Thank you,”_ he signed awkwardly around the books in his arms. “Tomorrow? After class?” He said it aloud.

_“Alright.”_

* * *

There once was a boy who didn’t believe in anything.

Melchior knew he came off as uncaring, and maybe he was, but the one thing he cared about above all was his best friend. He couldn’t bear to see Moritz hate himself, simply because he didn’t have a knack yet. There was never any static in the air when he insisted he was stupid, never any indication that he didn’t believe every word that came out of his mouth.

That’s why he came up with his solution: a spell.

It wasn’t even that hard to find one. It was old-fashioned, he knew, but Melchior loved spells, no matter how everyone insisted they were useless. He had an old family heirloom, a spellbook. although he’d never actually used it.

The spell he found was called _Constare Potest._ Let It Be Seen. It was meant to reveal a knack in someone, a small child or a late bloomer who’s knack hasn’t yet revealed itself. The book described how it would cause their abilities to turn up intensity against their will for about an hour, and how one must careful afterwards.

They met for the spell in the forest between their houses, just to be safe.

 _“You sure this will work?”_ Moritz asked as he arrived.

 _“No.”_ Melchior admitted. _“But we should at least try.”_ He grabbed his book, cracking it open to the right page.

Moritz was playing with his fingernails when Melchior glanced back at him. He met Melchior’s eyes. _“Melchi, what if it just tells us I_ don’t _have a knack? Is that even possible?”_

 _“I don’t know, Mo,”_ Melchior signed.

Moritz nodded, eyes screwed shut. _“Let’s just do it.”_

Melchior grabbed his hand, pulling him over to where he was planning on doing it. Moritz opened his eyes to see where he was going.

 _“Ready?”_ Melchior asked.

Moritz nodded. Melchior read aloud. “Sit magia flow. Notum ergo sit ignotum. Nolite celare virtute. Constare potest.”

Nothing happened. Moritz glanced around. _“Perhaps I have to say it?”_

_“Go ahead and try.”_

Moritz grabbed the book and cleared his throat. He’d never liked speaking aloud, especially in a language he knew even less than German. “S-sit magia flow. Notum ergo sit ignortum. Nolite celare virtute. Constare potest.”

Nothing happened. Melchior felt a rush of sorrow and hopelessness so heavy it almost knocked him over. Moritz stood up and stepped out of the circle. _“Thanks for trying anyway, Melchi.”_ He looked like he might cry.

_“No, we must have done it wrong! Let’s try again!“_

_“Stop it.”_ Moritz let out a loud sigh. _“We both know why it didn’t work. I don’t have a knack.”_ He started to walk away, towards his own house.

“Moritz, wait!” But he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are much appreciatated! Thanks for reading!


	4. Enchantment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long! The end of school was crazy. Here's a longer chapter to make up for it.

“So that’s just how I would do the problem, but if you don’t want to-” Hanschen rambled. Ernst stopped him with a hand on his chest. They both froze for a moment before Ernst drew his hand back.

“You’re going too fast. Do you always act like this outside of class?”

Hans shook his head. “Only around cute boys.” Ernst felt his face heat up. The look in Hanschen’s eyes made it clear he hadn’t meant to say that. He went to sign again, and Ernst thought for a second that he saw a flash of blue, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. A trick of the light, perhaps. “I mean, only around nice boys? You’re nice, is what i was trying to say.”

“Thank you.” Ernst smiled at his books in his lap. Hanschen really was much less confident than he seemed in class sometimes, but much sweeter too. He decided that he liked this Hanschen much more than the first one he’d met. This one was easier to get along with.

They continued working until the sun rested low on the horizon and they could hardly see their work. It was hard to make out Hanschen’s hands as he signed that they should probably head home. They stood up together and Hans helped Ernst gather his books. Ernst wasn’t even thinking when he pulled the other boy into a hug.

Hanschen’s coat was soft and his chest was warm. Ernst felt the vibrations in his body as Hans took a quick breath in surprise, gingerly wrapping his arms around Ernst.

It wasn’t as if it was the first hug Ernst had ever experienced, but something about this seemed more significant than he could comprehend right now. They pulled apart after far too long, possibly a minute or more. Ernst could hardly see his face in this light, but he could tell Hans was embarrassed.

“Thank you,” his hand extended so quickly it was probably unintelligible. Ernst turned and left, suddenly embarrassed as well.

* * *

The girls of their town gathered to discuss boys as often as possible. There wasn’t much else to do besides chores.

Thea liked Melchior Gabor. Wendla remembered him. They were good friends when she was younger. It had been a few years since they last talked, but she could agree that he was kind.

“Have you heard the rumors about him?” Thea told them for the hundredth time. “Doesn’t even believe in God! He’s such a radical!”

Of course it couldn’t be true. Everyone believed in God! It was simply common sense. Wendla could feel God all around her, see him in each sunrise and sunset, the smiles of churchgoers, the way flowers bloom, every glimpse into another’s mind.

Besides, she had greater things to worry about than Thea’s gossip.

The pastor’s sermon had been on Wendla’s mind since Sunday. He’d spoken of the very thing Wendla had wondered about: magic. Surely magic wasn’t really evil? She knew that this new round of preachers who claimed such things had been a huge topic of conversation since the first one appeared in the village a year before. Few of the people had listened then, dismissing it as new age craziness. Wendla’s own Mama had been part of the minority who agreed, banning it in their house.

Wendla had tried to stop, as Mama said, but sometimes she didn’t even do it on purpose. Sometimes in the middle of a conversation, a memory came to the surface in the other person’s mind and Wendla’s as well. She couldn’t help that, but she tried.

She put it out of mind.

When her mother announced her intentions to brew some may wine as a gift to her sister, Wendla’s first thought was where to gather woodruff to surprise her with. She remembered a meadow she’d seen, a meadow where wild woodruff grew.

Pulling aside the branches, she was momentarily blinded by the sun. Once her eyes adjusted, they fell upon a boy about her own age. His brown hair was unruly, and he sat cross-legged on a rock, fiddling with a stick. Wendla’s heart raced with fear for a second before she recognized him. It was her childhood friend, the one who she’d barely seen since they were five. He wouldn’t harm her. He’d certainly grown handsome.

Hesitantly, she crept forward and tapped his shoulder. He jumped, dropping his stick and looking up at her. “Melchior Gabor?” she asked.

“Wendla Bergmann?” Melchior signed. “You look like … like a tree nymph fallen from the branches.” It was a strange thing to say, but Melchior had always spoken oddly. “What are you doing here all alone?”

“Gathering woodruff. For Mother. And you?” His mind flashed to some memory, a forest and an old book with what certainly wasn’t German written in it, another boy she knew, one Moritz Stiefel, but he put it out of mind before she could see more.

Melchior smiled and stood up, throwing his arms out to gesture to the meadow. “This is my favorite thinking spot. My private place.”

Wendla started to turn to leave. “Oh, I’m sorry for intru-”

“No!” He jumped up, putting a hand on her arm. “It’s fine. Please stay? I’m lonely.”

 Glanced behind her a final time, she came over to stand by him. They sat together on the rock.

“So. Tell me something. How’s your day been?” he asked.

She sighed and smiled at the memory of her morning, pulling her legs up to her chest. “Wonderful. Our Sunday School class, we brought baskets of food to the day laborers- you should have seen those children’s faces. Oh, I just know we made their day.

“One of them, Melchior, she was so sweet. She hadn’t had enough to eat for weeks, ever since her father went missing.”

Melchior looked at her strangely. “She told you that much? In exchange for food?”

Wendla blushed. She’d forgotten he didn’t know about her knack. She hadn’t known what it was when they were five. “No, but she thought of it. I...that’s my knack.”

“Ah. Of course. It’s like Arbeit theorized.”

“Arbeit?”

He nudged her shoulder. “Michael Arbeit. He was a scholar and he laid the foundation for future work studying knacks. I’ve been studying him a lot, recently. He theorized that knacks were based on one’s personality. Of course, later scholars counter him, thinking it’s the other way around. I don’t know if I agree that there’s a link at all.” Seeing how she was still confused, he moved on. “What I mean is, it makes sense you can see into other’s minds. You always have understood other people.”

“What about your knack?”

Melchior grinned. “People can’t lie to me. Not without being caught.” He leaned back on the rock, position casual. It was almost as if he were bragging. “That’s why I don’t believe in the church.”

Wendla’s heart quickened. So the rumors were true? Gossip was one thing. Seeing the boy himself declare it was something else entirely. “Not even in God?”

He shook his head, turned towards her with fire alight in his eyes. She felt as if she might be burnt. “The pastors lie on purpose. Not all the time, but they do. If we aren’t to trust them then, why ought we to trust them at all?”

He’d moved rather close to her, and Wendla inched away. She felt almost dirty from this talk, but excited in a way she never had before. “My mama says that knacks are evil. Do the pastors lie when they say that?”

“Sometimes. Some of them do really believe it, of course. That’s part of how it works; they have to be _intentionally_ lying for me to feel it. You know, it’s actually really interesting- knack theory, that is. There’s currently no real scientific knowledge on how they come to be. It seems strangely supernatural, although I’m certain there’s a scientific explanation if we-” He paused and looked down sheepishly. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

 “A bit.”

 “Sometimes I do that. There’re just some topics I get quite passionate about and I can’t seem to help myself. Peculiar, isn’t it?”

 Wendla bit her lip. He knew so much about knacks, said so himself. Perhaps he could teach her? Mama would never allow such a thing, which only served to excite her more. “I- What time is it?” Something stopped her at the last second.

 Melchior shrugged. “Must be close to four.”

 “Oh. I thought it was later than that.” She frowned. “I paused by the stream so long, I thought it must be … later.”

 “See, you can stay for a while longer.” Melchior scrambled to his feet and ran a hand over the large oak tree that grew near the rock. “When you lean back against this oak,” (he did just that as he spoke) “and stare up at the clouds, you start to think clearer. That’s why this is my thinking spot.”

Wendla had to admit, she wanted terribly to join him. Lay back together and just talk. “I have to be back by five.”

 “When you lay here, a strange sort of peace comes over you,” he said, as if his mind was already far away, but his eyes were watching her carefully.

 A long moment in which they both watched each other. Wendla spoke first.

 “Well, perhaps for a moment. But only if you tell me more about knacks.”

 He looked surprised but nodded eagerly. “Of course!”

* * *

 Melchior paced anxiously outside Moritz’s door on Monday. His friend’s mother had called for him, and Melchior could only hope he’d been down soon. There was so much he should apologize for, so much to discuss. They hadn’t seen each other since Saturday when they’d tried the spell.

 The door creaked loudly as it opened and Melchior looked up. Moritz stood in the doorway, his bag slung over his shoulder.

  _“Ritzy.”_ He started. _“I’m so sorry about the other day, I didn’t-“_

 " _It’s fine.”_ Moritz cut him off. _“But I don’t want to try again.”_

 There was only the tiniest of static, hinting at the untruthfulness of this statement, but mostly, Melchior got the sense that Moritz was being honest. His heart sunk. But he had to help him! He had to make sure Moritz knew he wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t strange, he had a knack! _“But it could still work! Couldn’t it?”_

  _“I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m not trying again.”_

_"Ritz, you have a knack! I know it!”_

 Moritz’s hand resting on the strap of his bag tightened before letting go to sign, his hands firm and stiff. _“Give it up! I’m not trying again, and I_ never _want to have anything to do with anymore magic of any sort, got it?”_

Melchior started to protest again but stopped himself. Was helping his best friend worth losing his best friend? _“Whatever you say. I just don’t want to fight.”_

_"Then we don’t have to.”_

 Moritz stepped out the door and held out his elbow for Melchior to take. He hooked his arm with his friend’s, and they started down the road. The walk to school was the same as always, and Melchior breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t ruined their friendship forever. There was regret - a lot of it - at not being able to fix this, but maybe he could convince him later down the line.

They arrived to class a little behind the others, but with well enough time to get to their seats. Herr Sonnenstich began the lesson not long after they sat down. He scrawled on the chalkboard, back to them as he spoke. “Now, I’d like to inform you that I’m in the process of grading your exams, and I must say, some of you did much better than I expected.”

Moritz turned to Melchior, who quickly translated, watching his friend’s eyes get wide as he understood. Moritz raised his hands to sign something, but Herr Sonnenstich turned around just then. “Herr Stiefel! Pay attention!” Melchior gestured for him to face the front and Moritz whipped around.

Throughout the class, Melchior could see the way his friend hunched over, nerves evident in the drum of his fingers and the tapping of his foot. He’d told him after the exam that he’d done better than he’d expected, but just leave it to Moritz to worry about it either way.

 When they broke for lunch, Melchior put a hand on the brunette’s shoulder and mouthed, “You’re okay,” when he turned around. Moritz chewed his lip and nodded.

* * *

 He shouldn’t be doing this. Why was he doing this? Why couldn’t Moritz just wait for the grades to be posted like every boy?

It was too late to ask himself, he decided, standing inside the doorway of the headmaster’s office. He took a deep breath and moved to the desk, flipping through the papers. God, Herr Knochenbruch was disorganized. It reminded him of Melchior, in an odd way. His friend’s room always had at least three books, a coat, two pairs of shoes, and several papers strewn about.

He glanced towards the door before going back to searching the papers. Midterms, midterms, midterms- there they were! He pulled the paper free.

There was a list of grades, from best to worst. He started at the top, where Melchior and Hanschen’s names resided, moving downwards to the end.

There! _Moritz Stiefel,_ towards the end. Did that mean he’d passed? Moritz was breathing heavily now, before spotting a bit of text beneath.

 _I’m very proud of you. Every student passed. It’s clear you studied hard. -Herr Knochenbruch._ He ran a hand through his hair in shock.

Passed.

He’d passed! 

His father- god, his father would be proud for once!

Someone walked by the door with heavy footsteps he felt through the ground. Freezing, Moritz stowed the paper away again and waited a full minute after they’d disappeared to emerge, trying not to run to the schoolyard. The boys were all waiting there for him.

“Well? Did you pass?” Georg asked.

Moritz nodded. “Yes!” He struggled to catch his breath. “Yes, everyone passed!”

“God, Ritz, you could have been caught.” Melchior lectured. He sighed and let a grin overtake his face. “But I’m proud of you. You deserve this.” He hugged Moritz.

He still couldn’t believe it. He’d passed!

* * *

The paper was smooth and smelled of something she couldn’t quite identify, besides that it was a pleasant smell. The pen ink smelled dark and unnatural, and Wendla almost gagged as she dipped her pen into it. She wrote the words as quickly as she could, which wasn’t extremely fast, considering she hadn’t written many things before. The pen was being weird and she didn’t know how to stop the ink stains.

But Wendla copied down the words anyway, making her own spellings for words she didn’t know. She couldn’t let herself forget a word of what Melchior had told her. Not his many theories that had gone over her head or the most basic explanation of how her knack worked that she already knew.

Once she was done, Wendla read back over everything. Her handwriting was atrocious, of course, but she felt a warmth blossom in her chest at the knowledge that she knew these things. They were hers and hers alone. Something her mother couldn’t touch.

She hid the papers under her bed and returned the ben and ink to her father’s desk, before heading to the kitchen to help Mama with dinner.

* * *

Ernst sat apart from the other boys doodling on some paper. He hadn’t been able to draw since he’d gotten serious about passing, and he thought it only fair to indulge himself. He couldn’t quite decide exactly what he wanted to draw, which was incredibly frustrating, but he kept going.

A hand tapped his shoulder and Ernst looked up. Hanschen was there, smiling his smile that looked for more practiced than the one Ernst had seen for the first time the other night. “So I guess you passed. It was fun studying with you, but I guess you won’t be needing a tutor anymore, will you?” His eyes looked sad, but he smiled anyways.

Again, Ernst thought he saw blue swirling around Hanschen’s shoulders, but he rubbed his eyes and it was gone. He was feeling a bit faint. Must not have slept well last night.

“Don’t be silly. You don’t have to be my tutor, you’re my friend.”

“Friend?”

“Yeah.”

Hanschen’s smile dropped and he looked like he might cry. Ernst felt a rush of affection for the other boy. “Ok. Friends,” Hans agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos fuel me! x


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